Heart of Iron
by Galaya
Summary: In a world in which Howard Stark is still alive, and Tony Stark isn't his son but his grandson, after Bruce leaves the Avengers, he runs into a fellow fugitive with a vendetta against Stark International and weapons in general, with a flying suit of armor and a metal heart.


_**Heart of Iron**_

 **Galaya**

 **Summary: In a world in which Howard Stark is still alive, and Tony Stark isn't his son but his grandson, not much has changed. Captain America was revived from the ice, the Avengers fought Loki and the Chitauri, but Ironman has yet to make his appearance. After Bruce leaves the Avengers, he runs into a fellow fugitive with a vendetta against Stark International and weapons in general, with a flying suit of armor and a metal heart.**

 **Basically, this was the result of me wondering, after reading stories with a younger Tony Stark, how Tony could be younger, raised by Howard, and still have Howard have known Steve and helped create Captain America. I also love the whole "no one knows Tony Stark is Ironman, people think he's dead, and he, as Ironman, is trying to destroy all SI weaponry, and getting labeled as a villain in the process." So, I stuck the two together.**

 **This is my first fanfiction in years. I've been working on writing an original story, which I keep** _ **re**_ **writing (I think I'm on the fifth or seventh version now, in five years of working on it) and keep getting frustrated with. I need something else to work on that isn't related to the universe I've created for that book, so… yeah.**

 **Also, fanfiction. I do not own anything you recognize.  
**

Chapter One: Introduction

The room exploded.

Not _exploded_ as in a bomb went off and destroyed the whole building, but more an explosion of sound as part of the roof caved in and a metal figure crashed to the floor.

Bruce was on his feet in an instant. He could feel the green creeping over his skin like a shiver down his spine, but he held it at bay. This was not the place to hulk out.

He stalked toward the figure. Mechanical whirring echoed through the room as the thing turned its head. Glowing blue eye lenses – they weren't eyes, exactly, or eye holes – fixed on him. Bruce froze. If things went south, at least he had the assurance that he himself wouldn't be hurt, thanks to the Hulk.

The thing's head fell back against the floor. It gave a sound like a mechanical groan. Slowly, it began to sit up. Bruce tensed. This wasn't some new idea of the military's to apprehend him, was it? The thing looked strong, sure, but not strong enough to faze the Hulk.

Sparks flew from the figure's joints as wires short-circuited. It collapsed again.

It began muttering in a foreign language. Bruce frowned. He didn't recognize it – Asian or Middle Easter maybe? Either way, it was a language he didn't know.

The thing turned its head toward Bruce again, speaking in that other langue. As it realized that he couldn't understand it, it switched languages again. Bruce stared on uncomprehendingly as the thing tried somewhere around five languages. Some were more familiar than others, but he couldn't understand any of them. Though Italian was close enough to Spanish that he might have been able to guess what it was saying, if it hadn't been speaking a hundred miles an hour.

Well, whatever this thing was, it probably wasn't sent by the military to capture him.

"I have no idea what you're saying," Bruce deadpanned.

The thing fell silent. Then, hesitantly, it tilted its head.

"You speak English?" it asked, in less of a robotic voice than Bruce expected. "Wait, stupid question. America, duh."

"So do you, apparently," he retorted.

It tried to sit up again, this time minding its sparking joints. "Hardly anyone's spoken English to me in years. You know, when I actually _interact_ with people, which isn't all that often."

"Did the military send you?" demanded Bruce.

Always good to get a straight answer about that as soon as possible.

It looked at him in what Bruce could imagine was indignation. " _Me_? Military? I had a friend once who wanted to be in the _air force_ , but it's been years since I last saw him."

"Why are you here?"

"Here, as in Wyoming? Or _here_ , as in this… motel? I think it's a motel. I haven't really-"

"Answer the question."

It somehow managed to give the impression that it was rolling its eyes as it groaned in frustration. "I _fell_. Building a flying suit of armor out of spare missile parts is not very reliable."

Bruce's eyebrows came up. "There's a person in there?"

It froze, posture portraying surprise, as if it hadn't meant to say that. Then it relaxed and shook its head.

"'Is there a person in there,'" it – he, the voice was definitely masculine – parroted. "Of course there's a damn person in here. You think a robot would have my sparkling sense of humor? Although, JARVIS can be really sarcastic… And the bots… Never mind. Just… never mind."

It – he, Bruce corrected himself again – collected his sparking limbs underneath him in preparation to stand. But as soon as he tried to put any weight on his feet, the armor short-circuited again. He collapsed with a pained yelped, oddly distorted by the helmet.

"I'll be out of your hair in a second," the armored stranger panted, "just give me a moment."

Bruce sighed. He wasn't that kind of doctor, but he wouldn't have used what knowledge he had healing the sick and injured in third world countries if he didn't care for people.

"Stay there," Bruce ordered, moving around the debris-ridden bed to rummage around in his bag.

"What are you doing?" the stranger asked slowly.

"You're hurt."

"…I'm fine."

Bruce shot him a disbelieving scowl. "You're in a _flying suit of armor_ that is sparking and short-circuiting. You're hurt."

"Maybe I am. So what?"

Bruce held up his makeshift doctor's bag. The stranger froze.

"I'm not taking the suit off," he insisted, voice taking on a note of panic.

"Would you rather try flying again and fall somewhere else, and injure yourself more?"

It took quite a bit more convincing, but eventually the stranger had to give in. His suit refused to work. The numerous electric shocks, minor as they probably were, he was receiving likely helped too. Grumbling irritably in another language, he removed the helmet and shot Bruce a half-hearted glare.

Bruce hesitated for a moment at seeing the man's face. He was young, hardly more than a kid, but gaunt, as if he'd grown up on too much stress and too little good food and sleep. Small scars littered the young man's face.

"What are you doing with a flying suit of armor, kid?" Bruce asked as he tended to the small electrical burns and gashed littered across the young man's skin. He didn't have any broken bones, but his right ankle was sprained. He did, however, refuse to let Bruce attend to any of the injuries under his shirt, possibly because of the glowing blue thing on his chest.

"Hey!" he protested. "I'm not a kid!"

Bruce gave him a flat stare.

"I'm twenty… something," he slumped. "I think?"

"You think?" Bruce paused in his treatment to stare at the young man.

He shrugged. "I forgot."

"You forgot how old you are?"

"It wasn't like they cared if I knew how old I was! It wasn't necessary information, so I forgot."

Bruce stared at his face a moment longer, before deciding that was a matter to attend to later. He continued tending his patient.

The young man looked up at the shattered ceiling "Sorry about your room. I'd pay for it, but…"

"Bruce waved him off. "It's been worse. Usually I'm the one doing the breaking. I'm Bruce, by the way."

"…Tony."

Once Bruce had finished, Tony gathered up the battered pieces of his suit. Some parts were busted beyond repair. He sighed, tossing them back into the pile of metal. Brushing away chucks of ceiling, he sat on the bed and dropped his head into his hands.

"I don't think we're going to be able to stay here once the management realizes they have a new skylight," Bruce pointed at the ceiling.

Tony glanced over at him. "We?"

"Me," corrected Bruce.

But that seemed to have sparked an idea for Tony. "No, we. I brought this down on you," he looked at the rubble, wincing, "literally… so I owe you. And, you know, for you helping me. You didn't have to do that. Most people wouldn't have."

"I'm not most people."

Most people didn't have to deal with reigning in a giant green rage monster every time they got angry.

"I have a… sort of a place, more of a make-shift lab, actually," tony continued, "not too far from here. Nice thing about Wyoming, no one comes looking for anyone or anything here. I mean, most people go to _Arizona_ or _New Mexico_ or, I don't know, _Canada_ to hide. But Wyoming? It's all open space and wind. And no one expects it, which makes it even better."

"You're hiding from something?" Bruce asked.

"Er," Tony hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Don't worry. I know a thing or two about hiding."

"The whole 'am I from the military' thing?"

Bruce shrugged.

And just like that, it was decided. Tony refused to take no for an answer, and Bruce honesty wasn't against taking the kid up on the offer for a day or two. After all, the kid _did_ sort of owe him. And also, _lab_. Whatever else he was, Bruce was always a scientist at heart.

Whatever Tony couldn't salvage of the armor, he broke apart and scattered about the rest of the rubble. Unfortunately, that ended up being the majority of the suit. He ensured to the best of his ability that anyone looking would find no more than random scraps of useless metal and wiring. However, any and all power sources, circuits, and anything that held any sort of advanced technology Tony refused to leave behind for someone to find.

It was a surprisingly small amount. Tony managed to fit the tech into the old duffle bag Brue lent him, having gotten a newer, less worn out one for himself recently.

Mindful of his sprained ankle, Tony led Bruce out of the own and in a hike through the open land. He stopped at a rocky cliff. Maneuvering around a fallen boulder and prickly pear cactus, he ducked into the mouth of a hidden cave. Bruce followed. As he entered, he stared in awe.

Computers, somewhat obviously built by Tony himself, lined one wall of the cave. Against the other, a second suit waited, dark and silent. In the far corner, living supplies – a bed, blankets, and a small refrigerator and a microwave hooked up to a generator – lay scattered haphazardly.

A robotic arm on wheels rolled up. It reached toward Tony with a metallic whine. Tony patted the thing's claw. Bruce raised an eyebrow at the letters painted on the robot's side, DUM-E. Two similar robots were playing tug-of-war with a wrench in the background.

Tony turned around and spread his arms wide. "Welcome to my humble abode."

 **Thoughts?**


End file.
